Langston turned out to be a challenge, but in the best way. I was very used to the type of man who didn’t deserve me. I craved someone with patience and depth. I even prayed for him. It’s funny how we all have an ideal way we’d like God to answer prayers. I often imagine He’d hand me what I asked for, decorated in a big red bow, right into the palm of my hands. Happiness would be a petite, glittery box. Patience would be in a bigger, less flashy box. True love might require FedEx. But that’s not how prayers are answered. God presents us with opportunities to use the tools we’re asking for.
Langston is the answer to many of my prayers. Not in a fantastical rom-com kind of way, but in the way I described above. I prayed for a man like him. He may not be in the package I imagined, here at the time I wanted, or in the same city with me like I wanted, but he’s here and his presence will teach me valuable lessons about myself.
But Langston’s not my man and I am not so sure he has any intention of filling those shoes.
“What’s up girl?” Langston text me around 7am on a Monday morning.
I was getting dressed for work and replied to his message immediately, “Up and at ’em. You?”
“Can I call you?” Langston replied.
Before I could give him an answer, my phone buzzed with his name across my screen.
“Well…” I started.
“Well, good morning,” Langston said. “What’s up?”
“I’m getting dressed for work. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” I asked.
“I wanted to hear your voice and I prefer to call you,” Langston said in his raspy, syrupy slow voice.
“That’s nice,” I smiled.
We proceeded to talk about his work, his coaching, his bus driver therapist, my family, my job and hatred of the necessary evil of working out. He laughed when I revealed my stalling tactics for starting whatever set my trainer asked me to do. I picked on him when he told me his bus driver therapist had to let him know he was taking a day off.
Before I knew it, two hours passed and I was officially late for work. “I’ve gotta go Langston,” I regretted having to cut our long conversation short.
“Can you call me later?” He asked.
“Then I’ll call you,” He said.
We didn’t talk again until about a week later, but we both picked up like we’d been talking everyday.
“Hey sweetheart,” Langston messaged me.
“Sweetheart, huh lol…” I wrote back, deleted and wrote again.
“You can’t read anymore? lol!” Langston replied, obviously amused at himself.
I was getting ready for a flight to LA for work the next day and I was packing so I didn’t reply to his message. After a few minutes he called me.
“What are you doing punk?” Langston asked playfully.
“Coming to see me?” Langston flirted.
I always waited for him to flirt with me before I let those flood gates of my own open. Our relationship reminded me of mine and Roman’s. He was perfectly sweet to me, often treated me like a significant other, but would never fully make it plain that’s what we were and every so often inserted strong friend zone vibes.
“Ha, you wish. I’m headed to LA for some interviews,” I replied in my best, I’m-flirting-with-you voice.
There was a pregnant pause and finally he laughed and said, “That’s dope though. I am in awe of you and your job. You should bring me along one of these days.”
Now, I could have confronted his statement, but I chose to let it rock and laughed it off. “I should get going so I can finish packing and get some sleep.”
“So you’re really not going to let me tag along and be your assistant?” Langston pushed his interrogation. “That’s fine, I’ll just come to New York and see you.”
My face felt hot. “You’re more than welcome to tag along, come see me, whatever you want,” I said.
“Whatever I want huh? I’ll keep that in mind.” Langston laughed.
Where and me and Langston going? Stay tuned for next week’s column!